


Bird of Paradise

by Vee



Category: Muse
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-23
Updated: 2011-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-21 13:27:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vee/pseuds/Vee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a night in Tokyo during the Origin of Symmetry era</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bird of Paradise

What is it about the phallus, I wonder, that inspires a gut feeling of repulsion in me? Dom’s says I’m permanently stuck in adolescence. He laughs at me about it, says I can’t get past the excitement, can’t think about doing things different ways. I tell him I’m plenty different, I’ve gone crazy before. But he says I need to learn how to give in order to get. I mean, maybe I should listen to him. He was the first one to do everything. Get snogged, get laid, go down on a girl – he _did_ things, was the difference. I just let things happen _to_ me. Or I made them happen, when I had the chance. But there’s the matter of the phallus. I just can’t get over it. I don’t like it. 

It’s almost 3 a.m., and I only know this because some girl asked across the room what time it was, and someone answered her. She laughed and said “I need to be to school in two hours” and I think she went back to sleep. Whatever. I’m still rubbing the back of some bird I’ve decided I’m in love with, for however long that might last. It could be a few more minutes, if I’m lucky. She’s long asleep, anyway. I should have asked her name. I expected to be the first asleep, but there may have been some sort of amphetamine in the cocktails being served up earlier. 

I’m watching Dom curiously. A blonde’s holding him from behind, sucking on his neck as her friend – a short-haired Asian girl, probably Japanese since we’re in Japan and all – kisses down his chest. They’re giggling, talking, and I can’t hear what Dom’s saying to them, they’re all talking so low. He’s been with those girls all night. That would be nothing particularly new, save the fact that the blonde paired off with another guy earlier. All four of them have been on that bed, taking it up for hours, but I’ve been waiting for Dom and this other guy to acknowledge each others’ presence. Watching them has tried my patience and my sex drive. I’m not particularly attracted to him, after all. It’s nothing personal. I know women adore him, but when we’re vying for the same woman that makes things tense, to say the least.

He nods back at her, shrugging a little bit. She looks stunned. My curiosity piques and bodies begin to shift on the bed. The covers were thrown off long ago and the sheet’s pulled up at two corners, so it just wrinkles and bunches beneath them as Dom maneuvers around, holding the blonde by the waist as he kisses her and turns her over to lay on other side of him. 

They’re neatly paired off on sides of the bed, now, the guys and the girls. I’ve got a sidelong view of Dom as he gives a greeting to the other naked male body occupying the bed. For the first time I notice this guy is Japanese, too. I think I see Dom’s mouth form the words “what’s your name?” as his fingers, for some reason, start to skim along the muscles of his stomach. 

He must have asked Dom to repeat himself, because Dom does so, loudly enough that I can hear it, this time: “Your _name_.” Then he smiles. People do whatever he wants them to do when he smiles. 

Something is said that I can’t hear. Then Dom nods. “Jun? Did I say that right?” 

Like the month. Jun nods. Dom leans in and whispers on his neck. I have no idea what I’m watching, but he gestures back toward the girls at one point. They’ve started kissing each other, and it takes all my power not to be distracted by that. It’s still fairly new to me, the fact that girls will drop everything and pile on beds to make out with each other for us. I’m more interested, somehow, in what Dom’s got going on as his fingers skirt down Jun’s stomach again and onto his thigh. 

I’m watching my best friend kissing down another man’s body, stopping to look up at his face, smiling, and kissing back down, past the navel, past the pubic hair. Though he hasn’t actually started to do it, yet, I suddenly realize that I’m watching Dom about to suck cock, and this makes me squirm a little. How can he do that? What sort of mental barriers do I have that he doesn’t, that he can actually do what he’s doing now, sort of half-kneeling over this other body, dipping his hand in to fondle some other guy’s balls? Somehow, he makes it look easy, like he’s done it before even though I know he hasn’t. So long as he’s actually been telling me the truth all those times we’ve talked.

The last time, I remember quite well. We were lying on the roof of a hotel somewhere - wherever we were that weekend – passing a cigarette because he only had one left and I’d forgotten to bring any up. I asked him “have you ever sucked dick?” And he laughed and said “no”, but then when I asked if he ever would, he didn’t shut down the idea completely like I would have done. He thought about it for a moment, shrugged his shoulder the way he does, and said “I don’t know. I guess it would depend.” Then he asked me why I brought it up. I said I was just curious. And I was. I was just curious. 

I still am, the girl in my lap breathing in deep slumber as I watch Dom guiding the tip of the half-hard cock to his mouth. He looks sort of awkward doing it, pursing his lips on it first like he’s just kissing it, then pulling back and darting his tongue out, thinking. I see him fill his lungs with a deep breath and lean down again, opening his lips this time and catching the head between them. 

I hope he’s in sorts. I want him to tell me about it. What does it taste like? What does it smell like? I’ve always wondered what it’s like to actually be down there, to be doing it. The way he looks, though, I don’t think it could be nearly that bad. His shoulders flex and he readjusts his weight, looking quite graceful now as his eyes close and he pushes his head down a bit. Dom sucking cock. I’m seeing it happen and I don’t know what my brain is doing. I’m not attracted to him. I’m not. But I keep focusing on his lips, just his lips, and I’m feeling a familiar itch where I should be feeling no itch at all. A tug, and tightening. No, that should definitely not be happening. I try to blame it on the girl I’m still technically with, but she might as well be in another room with the way I’m staring. 

So I close my eyes. No big deal. I close my eyes and try to forget what’s happening. Strange things happen at parties like this, things we don’t want other people to see, and things we might be better off not feeling. I try to go to sleep so I can be useful in the morning.

It doesn’t last long. My eyes are back open within a few minutes. And when they are, my eyes zero right in on Dom’s mouth again. He’s circling his tongue around the tip of the rock hard phallus in his hands, and I’m hearing its owner making noise to encourage him. The girls are watching. They’re watching, and they’re apparently enjoying it, and maybe this gives me some encouragement of my own. 

Knowing how powerful Dom’s hands are from the many times he’s beaten me in a fight, I can’t help swallowing hard as I see his fingers curling around the shaft of Jun’s cock, stroking tightly in short movements. He’s still sucking on the tip, in a way that almost suggests he’s enjoying himself. He’s hungry about it, determined, and there isn’t a trace of hesitation or disgust on his face that I can see. 

I let my hand wander down to my lap, and find myself just stiff enough that I can’t let it go unattended. Not with what’s happening in front of me. Somehow, I don’t feel strange about it. I feel disconnected from it, in fact, like I’m watching some other bloke in some other room being blown by some other person, probably not a guy and certainly not my best friend. Is a blow job _really_ just a blow job, and does the mind do what it wants to do in terms of erotic projection? I have no interest in the phallus, but just like watching any porno, good or bad, I just start to move my hand and live vicariously. 

Dom’s tongue licks a hard line up the underside of the length, and then he moves his hand away and starts sucking harder. Full speed, now, his head bobbing in a completely unexpected way between subtly tensing male thighs. How is he breathing? What is he doing? Does he have any technique or is he making it up as he goes along?

I wonder if Dom gives a good blow job. As I think about this, my hand is moving faster.

His lips look suddenly luscious and full to me as they stroke up and down, sealed tightly and dark pink around the throbbing muscle of a saliva-slick cock. I’ve stopped focusing on just his mouth, though, and for some reason my eyes are wandering around and taking in the way his big ears are tinged red, the way the chain he’s wearing sways loose with the movements from his long, pale neck.

Not gay. Not straight. Not anything, really. In this moment, Dom is defying description, because he’s once again _doing_ things. He’s not shitfaced and he’s not being forced into anything. Jun’s fingers tighten and claw over the short hair on Dom’s head but they don’t find much purchase. He’s so fucking good at making people happy. I get caught up in appearances and niceties and trying to say the right thing. Dom just attacks, and he’s almost always right. He’s raw and animal but somehow he gets away with it because he seems like such a good guy. 

Not that he isn’t. He’s the best sort of guy. So many times, as long as I’ve known him, I’ve wanted to be like him. Sometimes it’s infuriating. Right now it’s just confusing, and I try to beat back the thoughts. I try to disconnect again. I’m going to come and I don’t want to be thinking of him when I do. It would make for an awkward bus ride.

In any language, physical ecstasy still sounds the same. When Jun lets go of a deep, loud moan a few other people stir around the room, but for the most part everyone remains asleep. Dom removes his mouth, running his tongue along the line of his lips, and his hand keeps moving with a quick, determined intensity. He bites his lip, he looks up at the other man. God, he’s looking at him. He looks happy, he looks so pleased with himself. I don’t think I could ever look someone in the eye, after that. Much as I might admire Dom for it, secretly, I still know my limitations. 

His hand moves up and down in corkscrews and strokes, and his eyes shift suddenly. 

Dom’s looking at me. Only for a second, at first. Then a double-take when he realizes I’m awake. Then a fixed, set stare when he sees just how awake I am. There’s no hiding it at this point. I glance away, closing my eyes, too close to stop. I hope he’ll be looking away when I open them again. 

He isn’t. The distance between my body and the bed melts away, and in the delirium of liquor and exhaustion and generally Too Much, I feel like it’s Dom’s hand moving on me, for just that moment as my eyes meet his. His gaze is steely and smoldering, like he’s daring me not to flinch. Holding my eyes, he puts his tongue out and leans down, still looking at me as he guides Jun’s cock back to his mouth. He pauses there, and my imagination fills in the blanks with visceral beauty. Uninvited, but not at all unpleasant. Come landing on Dom’s lips, his tongue, his chin and nose, left for him to lick up as he sucks the final dregs of orgasm from his one-night lover. But whose cock is it, really, that he’s manipulating with that unconscious power? This might be why I hate the phallus. It’s so unpredictable, and it’s sometimes a sexual divining rod when you don’t want it to be. 

I clench and open my mouth, breathing out hard as I come, and we both know I’m doing it for him. He sees it, and glances away as if to say his work is done. Whatever he does after that, I don’t care to see. My time with him is over, and I wonder on my way to sleep at last whether the whole evening had been, weird as it felt to think about it, leading up to that.

The next day, I’m tired but I can’t sleep on the way to Nagoya. He looks like sunshine and candy, propped up next to a window in his sunglasses and a gaudy printed t-shirt with his hands tucked behind his head. I study him, but we don’t say anything. A few times, during the afternoon, our eyes meet and I wonder if he’s thinking about it. Another night. Another show. More girls, more parties. Like so many other things slip right through our fingers, we miss our window to talk about it and still seem casual. 

Maybe it ‘s for the best. So many nights come along, after and forever, when I want to start a late-night, rooftop conversation with “so, do you remember that night in Tokyo?” and I can’t. He’s probably forgotten. We’ve both moved on to other things, other lovers, more important concerns with life. Sometimes his eyes still meet mine, though, years and years after the fact, and I give him a little knowing smile. He gives me a smirking, mischievous look in response. I think the meaning has been lost over the years, but way deep down in places we’ve probably chalked up to reckless youth, we both know what we’re really thinking about.


End file.
